


The Cottage

by mychakk



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Get away, Lots and lots of smut, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Oral Sex, Sherlolly Holiday Smutfest 2017, Victorian, secret meetings, smut galore, wank
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-02-19 07:11:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,793
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13118697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mychakk/pseuds/mychakk
Summary: This wasit. The time had come. All thoughts of his family, of his arranged marriage, of the few, expected-by-society children, of that normal life... all of that has evaporated from his mind the moment he took the first step down the, quite familiar at that point, snowed path. His mind focused only on what was behind those doors. Onwhowas behind those doors.Her.His Mistress.





	The Cottage

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Maejones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maejones/gifts).
  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [Smutfest2017](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Smutfest2017) collection. 



> This fic is my contribution to the Sherlolly Holiday Smutfest of 2017 organised by the wonderful **mae-jones**. She not only encouraged me to write the story in the first place but was also supportive later on, giving me a push to post it into the collection and doing beta work for this piece. All remaining mistakes are on me!
> 
> Final confession: this story is my very first attempt at writing explicit smut ever. Actually at writing any kind of smut ever. 
> 
> I'm flabbergasted by the positive response and comments. Thank you to everyone who has left kudos, reviewed and bookmarked this story. It actually won the AU category. Thank you!

**The Cottage ******

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Sherlock startled from his slumber as the carriage finally stopped. He dragged his hand over his face and took a deep breath. He peeked outside the window and nodded to himself. He was finally there.

His body's response was immediate and visceral. He could feel the hair on in his arms standing in anticipation as hot liquid started pumping through his veins. He felt, at once, both hot and cold. His palms sweated and his breath shortened and he could feel his guts clenching in that _pleasant_ sort of way. Here he was, indeed. His body's memory only highlighted his reaction in a way he never experiences anywhere else, except in this place.

There was a sharp knocking from above the carriage and Sherlock took a deep breath then exhaled it slowly. He straightened his winter coat over his usual tweed suit and picked up his small, lather, overnight suitcase then moved to leave the carriage. With a short glance and sharp nod to the carriage driver, he dismissed him and turned toward his destination.

The cottage was anything but special. With its stoned walls and thick straw roof it was just a regular, ordinary one that could be found on any outskirts of the typical English villages.

But the promise of what was hidden _inside_...

Sherlock swallowed thickly as his heartbeat accelerated even more so.

This was it. The time had come. Those _three days_... Those three impatiently awaited days were about to start. Those three glorious days of unspeakable and unbelievable pleasure were about to begin...

All thoughts of his family, of his arranged marriage, of the few, expected-by-society children, of that normal life... all of that has evaporated from his mind the moment he took the first step down the, quite familiar at that point, snowed path. His mind focused only on what was behind those doors. On _who_ was behind those doors.

_Her._

His Mistress.

That glorious creature he was privileged to experience only for three days each year. That magnificent temptress he was able to have only for himself for three days every year. The Circe, the Siren, only he's allowed ever to see.

His boots squeaked on the crispy snow as he stopped in front of the door. He took another deep breath, and the exhaled air left his lips in a misty puff. There was a soft glow coming from the windows and a grey smoke rising from the chimney that indicated _she_ was already there. Waiting. For _him_. The thought alone sent his heart beating so fast he was sure it would jump out of his chest.

He raised his hand and turned the doorknob.

A pleasant, warm air engulfed him as he entered. The soft orange glow from the nearby fireplace evoked memories from their past encounters. Smooth skin under his fingertips... soft hair tickling his chest... plump lips around _his_ -

But she was nowhere to be found and he felt a sudden twisting of his guts. He needed to see her. _Now_ , he thought impatiently.

He dropped his suitcase to the floor and took off his winter coat, letting it fall next to his luggage in a shapeless heap. A fleeting thought of his wife scorning him for the wrinkles in the garment passed through his mind but he dismissed it immediately. His scarf followed the coat as he took the few steps closer to the middle of the room and looked around. Then a noise to the right caught his attention.

From the corridor leading to the back of the cottage (where the _bedroom_ was!), he could hear soft footsteps approaching him. He turned around swiftly, heartbeat going at a galloping pace-

And there _she_ was.

His gut twisted at the sight.

She was still clothed in her traveling gown but without any winter outwear. Her shiny brown hair was impeccably coiffured into the latest fashion from Paris and it suited her. Her dear face looked slightly enchanted with whatever concoctions he figured women used for the sole purpose of capturing men's attention. He wasn't really familiar with them as his wife never really used them herself.

But right there, it was _not_ his wife. Oh, _no_. This was his Enchantress, his Siren, his Mistress; the one he met each year for three days only, when his children were sent off to their grandparents for post-Christmas indulgence and while his wife is left to do as she pleased.

He shook his head slightly. This was not the time to think about his arranged marriage. No. This was the time to solely focus on his Captivating Creature standing in front of him. Just as - he could tell - she was solely focused on him with no thoughts of her arranged marriage on her mind and no thoughts of her children left behind for three days to fare for themselves.

Oh, no.

After all, this was the time for the two of them, and only the two of them, while the rest of the world - their everyday life, their respective societal responsibilities and duties - faded into nothingness.

His lips lifted slowly in an involuntary smile and the woman in front of him smiled back at him. Her big dark, dark eyes - the pools of the sweetest, richest chocolate that always pulled him in - locked with his. He took a step toward her and her smile widened. His guts clenched in anticipation, while his manhood - that had stood proudly and, frankly, uncomfortably to attention ever since he had left his London house and his marital bed (he can admit it as such here, in the confines of this secluded, just-for-them, cottage) - twitched eagerly. Suddenly all he wanted was to take this temptress, his siren, into his arms, slam her against the nearest wall, hook up her skirts and bury himself deep, deep inside her tight, warm channel; rut into her ruthlessly at a rapid pace; wrestle from her chest those squeaky noises she makes when he hits her right, just _so_ , deep, deep inside-

He took another calming breath. There will be time for this, he thought. Just like there would be time to put her over the back of the settee and take her like an animal; the animal she made him with her wantonly looks and seductive smiles. Yes. But not yet. Not _yet._

He still needed to unwrap her from her garments and discover what new enchanting underthings she'd managed to find for him in the past year.

It was like unwrapping his own personalized Christmas gift. One he had been trying to earn all throughout the year, yet in the end still feeling that he really didn't deserve it; but it was _his_ nevertheless. It _was_.

He moved toward her, shortening the distance between them almost to nothing. His arms ached to feel her familiar shape tucked neatly in them and to hold her close to his chest- his _heart!_ But, he stopped himself just in front of her without touching her once. She looked up to his face expectantly. Their height difference was quite noticeable in this close proximity.

She searched his face for a short few seconds then gave a short, decisive nod.

And so it began.

No words were exchanged. That was the rule in this arrangement. Just pure unadulterated pleasure. Body against body, touch meeting touch, taste exchanged for a taste. Just the two of them meeting in the most primal way. And no words, no names, no talk whatsoever to be uttered. He didn't mind it. It only added to this heady experience.

With her permission having already been given, he raised his hand slowly to her face. His fingers ghosted over her soft cheeks as her eyelids fluttered closed and a soft sigh escaped her slightly parted lips. Now he could actually see it was her natural glow in anticipation of their encounter that had reinforced and highlighted her beauty. No female concoction had been used by his siren to entrance him more. As it happened, none had been ever needed. He had been captured by her many years ago; in truth, the very moment he had first met her.

He searched her familiar, elfish face, dark lashes covering her beloved, brown, warm eyes, cheeks splayed with rosy blush of her anticipation, pale lips so smooth and oh, so _kissable_. Her breath came in short, puffy exhales and his lips lifted up slightly. She _was_ just as affected by their yearly meeting as he. The thought made him smile wider ...and evoked this unadulterated need to kiss her.

Well then, so he _did_.

Lightly. Softly. He barely grazed her lips. She gasped and came closer to him in an unconscious move. With a soft groan, he smashed his lips to hers in response. Their lips moulded together in a familiar pattern and his heart soared. He kissed her and kissed her and kissed and she kissed him back, just as much. Lips against lips, tongues tangling and twisting and exploring, soft gasps escaping them, as they met over and over again.

Finally, it wound down and he leaned his forehead against hers - neck pain be damned. Soft puffs left his mouth and mingled with hers as their breathing calmed down.

After a while he opened his eyes and looked into her face as his hands moved. Slowly, he unwrapped the jacket of her woolly traveling gown, one button after the other, with his eyes never leaving hers. Her breath hitched as she watched him undress her. And still, there was that soft, gentle, _loving_ , smile on her face and his heart skipped a beat. Her white, pristine blouse followed the jacket to the growing heap of their clothes on the floor. Not that she seemed to care. For a fleeting moment he wondered what she'd tell her husband about the wrinkles in her clothing but then he saw the lace covering her upper chest with those mounds of creamy skin spilling from her corset. All thought, except that of her pliant body and the delights it promised him, left his mind.

His hands moved to her skirt and he unhooked the buttons at the waist then allowed the skirt to pool at her feet. She stepped out of it and moved it to the side with her still booted foot when something unusual caught his attention. He glanced quickly to her face and she smiled knowingly at him then widened her stance slightly.

And there _it_ was. The skin peeking from behind the unexpected slit in her bloomers. Conveniently located to allow one an easy access to her nether regions. He stared at it for a few seconds then looked up at her face. The wicked smile he found there made him almost stagger. He gulped and fell to his knees in front of her. His hand hovered over this tempting entrance to his favourite parts of her. She widened her stance even more (in blatant invitation!) and he couldn't resist anymore. His hand touched her and they groaned in unison. She, at his touch on that most secret place of her body, and he, at the moisture he already found there. His exploration released the heady, musky smell of her into the air and his mouth salivated in anticipation. Without any thought he put his mouth on her and licked a long strip from as far he could reach to that pearl that made her _squeal_ if he stimulated her properly.

She gasped loudly ay his ministrations and her hand went to his slicked back hair. The movement mussed them into their natural curls as she grasped his locks with her nibble fingers. Then, at one particular flicker of his tongue, she pulled _hard_. He groaned in response and his tongue flattened against her entrance involuntarily. His prick actually wept against his already too tight trousers. His skin prickled at the feel of his hair being pulled just so.

Lord, he needed _more_.

So he licked her once again. And again. And curled his tongue inside her channel; and moaned as she pulled his locks with each flick he lavished upon her. He gloried in the sounds she made as he suckled her. Then he _bit_ that pearl, recalling all the ways to bring her - this goddess he was born to worship - to the edge of immense pleasure. And by the sounds that escaped her lips he was doing it right.

He licked her some more and flicked his tongue over her pearl and bit it again gently but insistently , turning it over and over with his teeth, and her squeals got louder, her hips rocking harder against his face, her fingers _pulling_ on his hair and with a hitched breath and a following yell from her, his face was _drenched_ with a wave of her sweetest fluids. He lapped at this treat with his tongue cleaning her dry and prolonging her pleasure until she sagged against him as her knees buckled under her.

Instinctively his arms went around her hips to hold her up. His prick was rock hard, to the point of being painful, but he straightened up from his kneeling position and kissed her deeply. He knew she wouldn't mind tasting herself. She had never done so in the past, had even kissed him more passionately whenever he had done it, if he were honest. And this time was no different.

After the kiss ended she sagged against him even more, with her breath leaving her lips in ragged puffs. He smiled in satisfaction then picked her up bridal style making her squeal in surprise and wind her arms around his neck. He chuckled lightly at this reaction then smiled at her softly. Her eyes shone happily back at him and his heart did a somersault. There was nothing else left for him to do, but to kiss her gently and lovingly on her lips. She smiled at him then put her head on his shoulder as he took them to the bedroom.

XXX

Once they had reached the bedroom, he carefully disposed of his precious armful onto the king-sized, four-poster bed. She had recovered well enough to start undressing him in turn, touching and smoothing his body deliberately. He was hot and practically vibrating with so much need he was afraid he's going to embarrass himself. Not that she'd take it as an insult. She'd probably wear it like badge, her being able to unwind and undo him so. And rightfully. The minx.

She undressed him slowly, kissing all the skin she could reach. He wanted to do the same to her but she slapped his hands away lightly every time he tried to reciprocate. So there was nothing else to do but succumb to her and enjoy the pleasurable torture of her feverish touch on his overheated skin, before finally being left in front of her in his naked glory.

The smouldering look she sent his way made his insides twist. With her eyes glued to his, thus trapping him in a staring contest, she slowly started to get rid of the rest of her garments, stripping them for him in an enchanting way.

Without his conscious consent, his hand went to his prick, tugging at it. He squeezed and twisted his hand as he watched her slowly revealing herself for him. Each layer showed more and more of her glowing skin.

The intricate lace was removed from her thus far covered, perky breasts, revealing those small but soft, rounded mounds. He could see the delectable, bite-able rosy nipples, already hard and peaked, taunting him to be suckled into his watering mouth. He gave a harder tug at his prick and bit down a groan. He wanted to _suck_ on them so badly!

Next her soft belly was revealed; marred now by occasional stretch marks from the few times she had nurtured a new life inside her body. Still, she was no less beautiful to him now than it was that very first night he had seen them.

And finally... finally her most secret place was revealed with the glistening curls that made his hand _ache_ to feel them tickling it as he finger-fucked her. He squeezed his prick too tightly this time and the groan that escaped his lips made his vixen smile at him in a self-satisfied smirk. He'd have to spank her later for that.

She gazed at him with those big, fathomless, dark eyes as they faced each other, both finally, completely naked. Then, in a swift movement, she threw her arms around him and kissed him deeply.

And it was as if _fireworks_ exploded around them.

Suddenly, there were hot, hot open-mouthed kisses landing on whatever part of their bodies they could reach; and overheated skin touching overheated skin which brought a tingling sensation spreading from head to toe. Groan after groan after groan left their mouths as their exploratory hands touched and smoothed and groped anything, _anything_ they could reach…. kneading, grasping, massaging... and then the two of them tumbled onto the bed in a tangled pile of interwoven limbs.

His hand was at her entrance exploring and teasing (Lord, she was so warm and wet!) while hers squeezed and tugged his cock (ah- _unghhhhh_ ) and then, without any conscious thought, he found himself buried suddenly deep, _deep_ inside her, and rutting into her at a rapid pace as she clung to him for the ride. She was squeaking and hiccupping and squealing his name in a breathy voice that knotted his guts in white hot pleasure. His balls tightened as his pace grew faster. His moves were so hard the bed groaned with each of his powerful thrusts. Their kisses become artless, merely gasps against each other as they panted and yelped and suddenly she was tightening – _tightening_ _!_ around him and pulsing, pulsing, and squeezing and as she threw her head back with a loud wail he saw stars himself...

They kissed lazily afterwards. Slow, sloppy kisses on their mouths and whatever skin they could reach. Open-mouthed ones, gentle and loving. Kisses that slowly moved to something more, something purposeful, more exploratory. With determination they rediscovered each secret spot on their bodies encouraging more gasps and moans and hitched breaths until the anticipation was too much and once again they joined, this time in a slow heady rhythm. He was above her with eyes locked together and fingers entwined as one body moved against another. With smooth practised movement, they switched places with him positioned under her as she rocked on top of him and rotated her hips in such a way that left him begging and begging and _begging_ for more until they both come as powerfully as before.

Then, spent and glistening with sweat, they slept tangled with each other. Content. _Happy_.

XXX

He woke up sometime later stretching his sore muscles. Their love making had been as inhibited and free as always, and of course, he was more than ready and eager for some more but he was alone in bed.

He put on the robe she’d prepared for them, tying it loosely around his waist and, noting hers was nowhere to be found, he left the bedroom to look for his companion.

A noise in the kitchen caught his attention and he went there to investigate.

He nearly straggled into the doorframe at the sight that greeted him inside.

His temptress, Circe, siren... She was _waiting_ for him.

And boy, what a sight she made.

She was seated on the sturdy kitchen table, knees up and spread apart while her robe was left open to reveal her glorious body for him to admire. One of her hands was braced on the table behind her in support, while the other... the other waited in anticipation at her nether regions, bringing his attention to her glistening pussy, on display for him to see, pink and engorged and _ready_.

He was half-tempted to march right up to her and thrust into her in a swift, strong move; to stay there buried, still as a statue, until she squirmed and twitched and begged him to _just bloody move_ \- but something in her gaze - that was so blatantly focused on his face - stopped him in his place.

She smiled saucily at him and, not breaking the eye contact once, started exploring her pussy with her free hand. Her fingers stroked her outer lower lips gently and he felt his mouth water at the sight. He wanted _to lick_ her once more, to have on his tongue, in his mouth, that sweet, sweet, heady taste of her, as it was like nothing he'd ever tasted before and ever since. He licked his lips in need and swallowed hard.

Her smiled turned wicked and her gaze dropped blatantly toward _his_ nether regions.

He gulped once again and looked down as well.

His cock peeked from the loosely tied robe, all ready and _eager_ , and he couldn’t help the groan escaping his lips. His eyes shifted back to hers and she smiled at him mischievously then deliberately turned it into a challenge. He squeezed his eyes then locked them with hers and opened his robe to reveal himself for her eyes.

She nodded approvingly then gasped suddenly as her hand grazed that wonderful _pearl_ of hers, making her hips buckle slightly on the table.

He groaned and grabbed himself in a tighter grip, pumping once; then twice; then setting a steady rhythm.

He watched as she stroked herself to the same tempo he had set, her breath hitched and those familiar and, oh, so freaking _stimulating_ squeaks she always made, started escaping her lips.

He swore, his legs buckling under him when she finally put her fingers inside her wet, wet channel. He longed to take their place but he could not move except to slide down the wall behind him. He found himself half seated on the floor watching as she pleasured herself above him. He was so turned on by this inhibited goddess! He increased the thrusts of his prick into his hand and she matched his rhythm without a misstep.

She was _close_ , he could tell as her head was thrown back and her tights were shaking in that familiar way he recognised. It made his balls squeeze in anticipation. He needed her to come. And he needed it _right then_.

Their rules be damned.

" _Now_ ," he commanded in a low demanding voice.

She gasped, obviously startled by the sudden appearance of his demanding voice, and looked into his eyes. With a smouldering look, he _implored_ her to heed his command and, with another strangled gasp from her lips, her face twisted in inhibited pleasure as she finally came. And came _hard_.

The sight made him squeeze his cock involuntarily and so _hard_ , that, with a curse from his own lips he came as well; hot, white, sticky streaks spluttering from his manhood onto his stomach, one after another. He slumped against the wall, spent, his breaths ragged.

He heard a noise and looked up only to see his temptress slide from the table on shaky legs, a wicked, wicked look in her eyes. She fell to her knees and crawled toward his slumped form, her breasts jiggling as she moved closer and closer. He swallowed as she stopped above his flaccid manhood and his soiled stomach. She gave him a blazing look and bent her back lower, never breaking their gaze.

Then she licked up one of the white stripes left by his recent finish.

He swore and twitched as if to stop her but she looked up at him with beseeching eyes and licked his stomach once again in a deliberately slow motion. He couldn't help the _moan_ that had escaped his throat. With eyes on his face, she set herself on licking and licking and licking him until she cleaned his stomach up. But she _never_ touched his manhood. His cock, though, he was amazed to note, was already half hard once more. Only _her_ , only this amazing woman, this enchantress could elicit this kind of response from him in such a short time. Only her. No one else. _No one_.

He swore again as her mouth moved down and suddenly suckled on one of his balls then the other and without any prompt his prick was as hard as ever. For her. _Only_ her. She smiled a self-satisfied little smile at the sight then licked a long strip from the base of his cock to the top. And then she took him in his mouth.

A jolt went through his body at the contact and his hips jerked. He wanted to hold her head but was afraid he'd fuck her mouth, and fuck it _hard_ , if he did it. His hands must have twitched in her direction and she must have seen it for she stopped and released him from her mouth, making him groan in disappointment.

She smirked then her face morphed into a loving smile. She took his hands and put them on her head, and bracing herself on her elbows on either side of his hips, she started her ministrations once more.

He swore. And swore some more and groaned as his hands guided her and increased the tempo. Her mouth was hot and wet and soft and he knew- he bloody well _knew_ he'd come once more and he didn't want that, he _didn't,_ he tried to take her head away but she braced herself more firmly on her forearms and took his wrists in her hands, keeping him in place, as she bobbed on him and squeezed and sucked then she _grazed_ him with her teeth and he was _lost_ , _so lost_ … With a roar wrenched from his throat, he lifted his hips up from the floor, his prick buried deep, deep in her throat as a splutter after splutter after splutter left him into her mouth. She choked slightly but gamely tried to swallow, the action milking him _even more_. And then he was done; spent; _boneless_ ; arms falling to his side as he tried to catch his breath.

She sat up while wiping her face, breathing in short, quick puffs, and smiling at him saucily with shining eyes; her eyes _glowed_ with satisfaction and he _longed_ to reciprocate but he was just too tired. All he could do was to lift his arms up slightly for her, hoping she'd get the hint.

She did.

She crawled into his embrace and settled herself against him as he squeezed her tightly to his chest. His lips found hers and he kissed her deeply, not minding the taste himself just like she hadn't minded tasting herself not that long ago.

He hugged her close, hid his face in her neck, and breathed her familiar, sweet, unique scent. Longing to say to her what had been engraved in his heart for many, many years.

_I love you, I love you, I love you._

He mouthed this words against her neck and she hummed as if understanding; he felt her mouthing something against his shoulder and he _knew_ she was saying it back.

They stayed locked in this embrace for a long, long while, enjoying the close proximity and simply each other. Eventually, though, nature called. They needed food and drink and proper sleep. So with comfortable, easy and loving smiles, and the occasionally exchanged kisses, they fed themselves and drank juice and wine, and then fell asleep in each other’s arms.

XXX

He _did_ reciprocate for that amazing job she had done to him in the kitchen with her mouth.

Once they had finally woken up from their well-deserved sleep, he went down on her, showering her body with purposeful kisses and nips then prodding and licking and suckling her on that intimate spot. He fucked her with his tongue and fingers until she screamed his name as one orgasm hit her after the other, finally turning into one, prolonged finish that left her spent, _powerless_ and _boneless_ , the same way she had left him earlier that night.

Then he took her from behind the way she sometimes liked: being pinned under him on her stomach and stretched with her arms tied with silks to the bed post; left at his _mercy_ as he entered her slowly at first, the angle so different then their usual joining, the fit so unbelievably _tight_. He took his time, stroking into her leisurely, _maddeningly_ , leaving her squirming and gasping and begging for more before he gradually increased the rhythm and force of his thrusts, until he was rutting into her in such a way the bed groaned and creaked and scraped. Wail after wail was torn from her throat until she screamed with all she got as he emptied himself deep, deep inside her with a curse of his own.

Later on, she managed to manipulate him into taking her from behind as she braced herself against the settee, just the way he had thought of doing to her at the very beginning of this year’s encounter. Not that he really _resisted_ being manipulated into doing that. It _was_ one of his favourite positions to take her, after all, and she - his temptress, siren, mistress - knew it perfectly well, the minx. He was completely powerless to her wanton ideas, especially when she had already sprawled herself on all fours with her glistening pussy on display, ready for him to use however he wanted. She blatantly tempted him with her saucy looks thrown unabashedly over her shoulder, her smouldering eyes begging him to _fuck_ her, and fuck her _hard_. No surprise then that all he could do was to accommodate her, giving her each and every thrust she demanded from him, bringing them to their mutual satisfaction.

He also allowed her to tie him up against a chair. Being at her mercy… not able to touch her in any way as she did _wicked, wicked_ things to him… blowing him, fisting him, keeping him on the edge but not giving him the satisfaction until he was sure he’d go mad with desire- and _finally_ fucking him… leaving him gasping and writhing, overcome with need to touch her, to kiss her, but only her beautiful, impish smile as his reward…

Oh, his wicked, wicked mistress.

Finally, on the last day, their love-making turned more sensual and as always was more about the deeply rooted feelings than a simple gratification of their bodies. As their time neared its end, their joining turned more determined, more heartfelt, more _poignant_.

And afterwards, in the last hours of their borrowed time, they laid entwined together so close it couldn't be discerned where one ended and the other begun. Heartbeats in sync, breaths mingling, cocooned in their own world, they laid together until sleep claimed them both.

XXX

He was fully clothed and ready to take his leave when he entered the kitchen in search of a last glass of water before the long journey home. The time to say goodbye to this place, to their sacred time, has finally come. Soon he'd have to face his arranged wife, his children, his everyday life once more and take up his responsibilities and duties.

With a heavy heart, he stepped quietly into the entrance to the kitchen and stopped. His eyes focused for the last time on his companion, on his mistress. This carefree woman he was only allowed to experience for three days each year. This amazing creature.

His _beloved_.

She turned around as if sensing his gaze - she probably did - and looked up into his eyes, her face solemn. She was also clothed in her traveling suit, ready for their departure from this safe haven. He looked her up and down and noted the wrinkles on her white, pristine blouse and her gown. Neither of them had gotten to pick their clothes up from where they had been left in the crumbled heaps on the floor that very first day.

He locked his eyes with hers, with his mistress, his _Love_ , and knew the time for their “ _no talking”_ rule had finally passed and he was allowed to speak.

"Your blouse and jacket are all wrinkled through and through. What will you say to your husband if he enquiries about them?" He asked in an innocent tone that fooled her not at all.

She narrowed her eyes at him, then smiled in a deceptively pleasant manner. "I'll tell him I was too eager to have my wicked way with my _lover_ to care about my clothes, ... _Husband_."

Sherlock grinned at her. "And what if I'm a jealous sort, _Wife_?"

"Then I might ask you back about _your_ wrinkled coat," she said pointing to his, indeed wrinkled, garment.

He looked down at it then grinned back at her. "Ah, yes. I was, too _eager_ to meet my lover, my _mistress_ , to care about my clothes, Wife." He took the few steps, closing the distance between them, then smiled lovingly at her. "And what a _glorious_ mistress she is."

Molly huffed at him, but her cheeks blushed becomingly at his compliment.

Sherlock grinned at her knowingly and took her into his arms, squeezing her lightly.

"I love you," he breathed.

She sighed into his chest contentedly as her arms wrapped around him. "I love you, too."

They hugged each other for a while then Sherlock hummed.

"It's going to be our tenth anniversary next year," he said.

He felt Molly hum in response and hugged her a little bit closer. Their marriage _was_ indeed an arranged one, made by their families almost then years ago, with their official anniversary falling somewhere at the beginning of the summer months. But for them... For them it's _those three days_ each year, set between Christmas and New Year's Eve, that counted as their _real_ marriage anniversary.

They had really struggled the first few months of their married life; in trying to find sense and semblance in this new life neither of them had really wanted to be part of. They had fought against the expectations, responsibilities, duties and, _yes_ , their growing, mutual feelings for each other.

It was almost six months into their marriage when things finally changed. One of his cases had gone awry and the offended party deciding to take revenge on him with Molly. His new, unsuspecting wife was the means to that end. She might have died, she probably _would have_ , if he hadn't been on time. That experience, despite the fact nothing really bad had happened to her, had shaken him to the point of a confession of his feelings. Oh, what a trying, yet _freeing,_ day it had been!

But that experience had also made him treat her like a porcelain doll. He had been, and _still_ was, so afraid for her! But she hadn't been able to bear him treating her that way and still couldn't. So she had come up with the idea of a “ _glorious three days”_ of unadulterated pleasure and lost inhibitions for them to set them back. The glorious days of leaving behind their societal roles, duties, normal life and just being _free_ with each other. And it _had_ worked that first time. It _had_ reset them and their interactions with each other, put them on an equal footing, and cleared the air about their feelings and expectations. And ever since, _that's_ how they celebrated each year of their surprisingly prospering marriage. For their marriage _had_ started for real here, in this cottage, that very first year they had decided to get away.

As had their family.

"I was thinking maybe we should do a little bit _more_ than three days next year," Sherlock continued.

Molly looked up at him.

"I don't know, both William _and_ Charlotte were probably conceived during our breaks here, and, based on my monthly cycle, we might have another little one this time next year," she told him with a shy smile that did things to his heart just like her wicked one did to his prick.

"Really?" He looked at her eagerly already hoping she was correct.

She smiled at him. "We'll probably know soon enough."

He smiled back. "I do hope you're right." He bent his head and kissed her squarely on her mouth. Then he wriggled his eyebrows at her mischievously. "Then again, we can always work on another one at home, after all, both Jacob and Emily came to existence during different time of the year, based on their birthdays."

He paused frowning suddenly as a thought struck him. "But maybe we should _time_ it so next year you're pregnant as far along as you were with Emily instead of Jacob."

His wife rolled his eyes at him but her lips twitched. "It's not my fault _your_ babies make me feel so poorly in the first trimester of the pregnancy."

He squeezed her to him once again.

"I was really worried when you vomited most of our time here for no real reason," then he couldn't help the smug smile, as he added, "until _I_ realised _why_ it might be the case."

Once more, his wife rolled her eyes at him.

"Yes, it was very clever of you to deduce the arrival of our second child," she told him flatly, but her eyes sparkled nevertheless.

"Yes." He nodded then smiled wickedly at her. "But the _second_ time you were pregnant as we came here... Boy, were those _glorious_ three days. I don't think I had been able to move properly for at least a _week_ afterwards!"

Molly blushed a deep scarlet colour and it made Sherlock’s heart do a jolt at the sight. Here was his wicked mistress - his _temptress, Circe, siren_ \- capable of leaving him a blubbering mess with her wantonly ministrations mere hours before, and _all_ without a second thought, but as he mentioned their actions then, after their getaway was over, she'd blush like the very young virgin she had been when they first started their physical relationship.

Such a contradiction. His never-ending, non-stop changing puzzle, one he was happy to spend the rest of his life trying to solve and understand…

"Again not my fault _your_ baby makes me want you so much during that part of my pregnancy, you know it happened with the other three as well!" his beloved told him.

Sherlock grinned.

"And I'm happy to _oblige_ you as it _has_ been me who put that baby in you in the first place." He reassured her with a mischievous wriggling of his eyebrow. "I'm quite looking forward to doing it once more."

Molly giggled.

"I bet you are!" She gave him a knowing, saucy look.

"Minx," he replied and kissed her deeply, simply because he could. "Maybe we have time for one more-"

An unmistakable sound of a carriage nearing the cottage could be heard from outside.

Molly sighed disappointedly against his lips. "I'm afraid not."

"Shame," he pouted.

Molly shook her head. " _Behave_. Aren't you sated yet?"

He gave her a smouldering look. "Are _you_?"

She blushed becomingly.

He smirked satisfied. "Thought so."

"Just wait until we get home," she admonished.

"Promise?" He looked at her eagerly.

"Yes. But we might be too tired from all the excitement coming from our children this evening," she cautioned.

"Ah, you might be right." He nodded then smiled sheepishly at her. "I must confess, as much as I enjoy our time together here, I do miss them."

"Me too." She smiled at him.

"I love you, Mrs. Holmes," he told her once more with a soft smile on his face.

She looked up at him with her big, beautiful, shining eyes. "And I love you, Mr. Holmes."

They put on their winter coats, Molly making sure his scarf was neatly tucked around his neck as he put on her hat a little tighter on her head. They smiled at each other lovingly then Sherlock took a final look around the cottage before focusing once more on his beloved wife.

"So, ready to become the Missus once again?" he asked her offering her his arm.

"As if you needed to ask." She smiled that mischievous smile that made him both weak-kneed and hard and bothered at once.

"See you next year, lover?" she asked him with bright eyes.

"You can bet on that, _Mistress_ ," he told her in the lowest baritone he could muster and admired the blush it evoked on his wife’s face.

Still with a smile on her face, Molly looped her arm around his elbow, and together, arm in arm, with Sherlock carrying their overnight suitcases, they left the cottage knowing it would be waiting for them the next year.

xxx

 _Fin_.

 

**Author's Note:**

> All comments are greatly appreciated :) Thank you in advance! :)


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